


Room Service

by miikkaa_xx



Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miikkaa_xx/pseuds/miikkaa_xx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Chris Hemsworth is the rising boss of the criminal underworld and Tom is his lawyer who finds himself blurring the lines between business and personal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snkt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snkt/gifts).



> aka, [ifaceitlikeagod](http://ifaceitlikeagod.tumblr.com/).
> 
> This is my second of the two fics from the AO3 Auction Fundraiser I participated in.
> 
>  **warnings:** porn without plot, dirty talk, semi-public sex, possessiveness, cameos from other actors

-

If someone told Tom that the unassuming blonde man that had come to his office three weeks ago – quaintly dressed in a three piece suit and hair tied back in a bun, asking smoothly, with the most gentle smile, as to the details of land agreements and building permits – was actually one of the most feared men in the underworld, Tom would have laughed. 

He’s not laughing now. 

‘Tom, this is my associate Robert,’ introduces Chris, again with that gentle smile and the glittering baby blue eyes. He moves smoothly between the two of them and Tom shakes Robert’s hand with hesitance, eyeing the wall décor of their meeting place more than the people present. 

‘Sorry about the setting, I’m working on something right now,’ says Robert offhandedly, gesturing to the various rifles and handguns propped up on the walls, with numerous ammo boxes stored in glass cases underneath. The warehouse is a clean, spacious area – rectangular with deadly décor, and there is a long table before Tom with two briefcases popped open a thick wad of legal papers. A stylized pen with a gold H curved lovingly upon the clip sits on its side next to the documentation. 

Sweat slides down the back of Tom’s neck as he eyes the one briefcase opened to see customized M4 carbines, and the other suitcase filled with fat wads of cash. Chris stands beside him in a powder blue suit, hair drawn back in a small ponytail at the nape, and he lays one hand on the table, the other around Tom’s shoulder – grip firm, as he speaks: ‘It’s fine. Tom should suffice as my witness, I suppose. He’s my official lawyer in this city.’ 

Robert’s eyes slides over to Tom and drags down him in deliberate slowness, expression still blank, but Tom feels his skin burn from the violating gaze. The hand on his shoulder is a hot brand against his skin despite the grey suit he has on. ‘He’s fantastic.’ 

Chris hums in agreement, that pleasant smile on his mouth never leaving, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Tom’s realized nothing quite reaches his eyes. Not anger, not joy, not cheer, not pleasure, not hate. The only thing that he can identify is something that makes his stomach drop every time Chris locks eyes with him and he’s not eager to label it just yet. Something just on the side of fear and on this side of… 

‘I read through the papers.’ Tom realizes his voice is too loud and the two men in the room can probably hear his pulse thud heavily in his throat. He swallows, tries again. Chris’ hand stays deadly still. ‘I read it all – and it’s all quite legal. The land agreements for the acreage will be passed towards my client, Mr. Hemsworth, and the building permits will be handled by your organization, Mr. Robert, so if you don’t mind signing the last page here.’ Quickly, he flips through the one copy of the documents to the designated page and gestures vaguely at it. 

Robert’s eyes haven’t left him and Tom darts a nervous glance at Chris, tries to discern his reaction to his blatant objectification. It’s not like he feels like he belongs to Chris – but, Tom has quickly realized, when Chris brings him to meet his associates, it was best if he stayed close to Chris and Chris only. The incident at the bar where his ‘associate’ Andrew had pulled a gun on Tom was still fresh in his mind. The only way they had gotten out of that is how Chris spun around and snapped Andrew’s arm, that half-smile playing at his mouth never slipping off his face. Thankfully, Chris had gotten the property license to that bar though Andrew’s signature was shaky at the end of the night. 

Back to the present, Tom watched as Robert nodded his understanding and leaned over the table, picking up the pen and signing it without breaking eye contact with Tom. His flirting was obvious. Still, Chris’ demeanour next to him didn’t change and the hand on his shoulder remained as it was. 

‘And now, Chris,’ murmurs Tom, his hand gesturing towards the other copy, and finally – finally – Chris’ hand leaves his shoulder to pick up the pen, customized from his family, and signs his name with a flourish, nodding to himself once. 

‘Great,’ says Robert, smiling openly at Tom. Tom smiles back – unable to stop himself, it’s the polite thing to do, especially when he’s already reviled from being a lawyer. It’s best to come off as unthreatening as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, the M4 carbines glint under the hum of fluorescent lights. 

‘It was pleasure doing business with you,’ hums Chris, his voice is the low rumble of thunder within his chest, and it does something to Tom’s stomach that he’s resolutely been trying to ignore every time he’s in the man’s presence. Chris reaches out, shakes hands with Robert, and pulls away. Robert opens a welcome palm towards Tom, who takes it with a breath of hesitation that seems to go unnoticed. 

The shake is firm, solid. Tom retreats first, steps to the side and accidentally lines up his torso against Chris’ frame. The body heat sears through him and he steps away almost immediately. Robert snorts, ‘so, you got a ride out of this shithole or what? I’m gonna pack up soon. We should grab a celebratory drink, no?’ 

Before Tom can reply, Chris slides his palm back onto Tom’s shoulder, brings it closer to his neck this time, thumbs the first vertebrae of his spine with deliberate slowness that has Tom’s mouth go dry and his tongue heavy. ‘Some other time, Robert. It’s getting late and my lawyer does have his other clients to attend to.’ 

‘Right,’ nods Robert, ‘you’ll have to give me your card, though, Tom.’ 

Tom’s brain takes a second to catch up and he nods. ‘Yes, of course,’ but Chris interrupts: ‘let’s save that for the postponed drinks. Something to talk about.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Robert cocks his head, a half smile and irritation sparking on his face. ‘Later, then.’ 

‘Come,’ murmurs Chris with that voice of his, low and creeping through Tom’s senses. Tom nods a goodbye, picks up the copy of the documentation to slip into the folder he has back in Chris’ car. They turn and walk together, and Chris’ thumb traces the curve of his spine as they walk. 

The cool night air washes over them soon enough and the crunch of gravel is loud in the too-quiet night of the countryside. On the horizon, the city line glitters and Tom admires it as much as he can, even as Chris moves away and opens the passenger door for him like a proper, sweet-natured gentleman. 

‘You really don’t have to do that,’ says Tom in a rush once Chris is buckled in next to him, turning on the ignition. 

‘Open the door or protect you from sleazy gun smugglers?’ asks the other man. 

Tom’s mouth moves but no sound comes out. The faded light of the night catches the outline of Chris’ face, the silhouette of his mouth, his nose, the dark making his baby blue eyes seem more navy than anything else. 

‘No, really, do tell,’ says Chris, and something like amusement is caught in his voice, though there is no smile and his eyes are focused on the gravel road that stretches before them. 

‘Both, I suppose.’ The answer is belated and perhaps the exact opposite of what Tom wants. ‘He’s quite persuasive though, isn’t he? Robert.’ 

‘It what makes him a good businessman,’ replies Chris diplomatically. The sky line of the city approaches them slowly and steadily but Tom likes the quiet space that he has with Chris in moments like these – private drives where the only witness is the dark of the night and passing scenery. Still – the distance between them is frightening. 

‘Three weeks and all I know is that you’re a dangerous businessman,’ mentions Tom casually, watching out his window with a focus he doesn’t quite feel. The reflection of Chris remains as still as it was before the statement. 

‘And all I know is that you were one of the more popular choices of a lawyer when I moved to this city. I’ve never agreed more with my referrals.’ 

Tom smiles. ‘Thank you. I do quite like my job, though I’ve never had a client like you.’ 

‘Yes, I’m unique in a lot of ways, aren’t I?’ Chris slurs his syllables, makes his accent more pronounced. ‘I do admire your work ethic. And I think I’d like to see you outside of client meetings, though…’ He trails off, mouth parted around a breath. 

Tom doesn’t stop staring at Chris’ reflection in the window. ‘You can,’ he says after a beat. ‘You really, really can.’ 

‘Soon,’ says Chris quietly. ‘Soon.’ And, somehow, Tom knows he’s not talking about a date at all. The promise slides around the curve of his spine and warms his thighs despite his effort to not react. The rest of the ride continues in silence. 

-

Two months after meeting Chris for the first time, Tom has learned more of him through more indirect sources such as news and second-hand stories of the people they meet than anything from the man himself. 

The Hemsworth clan had begun a generation back in the city the next state over. When Chris’s older brother finally ascended the throne, he had placed Chris in charge of the city, but Chris relinquished the position to his younger brother and came to the new city – Tom’s home, to expand the territory. But territory was a tricky thing and Chris needed a man who knew the law and legal loopholes, which was how he ended up in Tom’s office – all gentle smiles and soft-voiced persuasion, accent wrapping his words up in a smooth rumble that had Tom all weak-kneed when he really didn’t need it. 

Tom wonders if Chris knows his effect on Tom’s libido, but that’s neither here nor there. He only knows that Chris has a protective streak over people he invites to his meetings, particularly his PR agent of sorts – a long-legged woman with bronze skin and inviting smile. She sits on Chris’ right while Tom sits on his left, and he sees how Chris seamlessly switches attention from her to him and deflects any flirtations or personal questions from both of them with a confident ease. It certainly keeps Tom on the down-low in the underworld, and Elsa – the agent – can slip away without any harm to her person. Still, he never forgets the way Chris’ hands are always on him – on his shoulder, curved around the back of his neck, around the bicep of his arm, on the small of his back. A touch to steady, to ground, to possess. 

This time, they meet in a high-end restaurant where Chris has a booth reserved in the back. There is no Elsa to deflect or renegotiate terms when Chris is sweet-talking gang leaders or charm prominent legal or political figures. This is all business of the document kind – Tom’s territory. Still, he never quite feels right when he knows he’s going to be meeting some other big shot in the black market. 

This client is tall, with sharp cheekbones and bright eyes. They glitter and roam Chris in apparent interest, and it makes Tom’s hackles rise. He introduces himself as Benedict and expresses the appropriate mild interest in Tom’s British background, comparing and contrasting it with his own, before his attention is upon Chris again. 

‘I have the finest bred horses just out in the ranch,’ says Benedict as he drinks from his wine glass. The entrée plates are cleared and coffee is served for both Chris and Tom while the other nurses his glass of red. ‘They are ready to race in a moment’s notice. Under your name. I shall need jockeys, however.’ 

With Chris’ murmured explanation of what Benedict did as a criminal on the drive to the restaurant, Tom picks out the code as easily as if he had always known. He wonders if the distribution of heroin requires this much legal work, but it’s not his job to question his clients, only to serve them as best as he can. 

Chris nods, ‘of course. We’ll sign them off whenever you’re ready.’ Tom’s fingers reach for his briefcase at his side but stops when Benedict lays his pale fingers on Chris’ forearm, those pale eyes so bright in the dim light of the restaurant. 

‘Do tell me our business won’t end with these papers, I do quite enjoy your company.’ Tom, for all intents and purposes, is invisible at this meeting. He clears his throat loudly, catching both the men’s attention. 

‘Of course not, they’re up for renewal every six months as we agreed upon last week.’ Tom’s smile is icy. Benedict is appropriately cold in response. 

‘Sometimes things come up. Sometimes six months is a bit long, no?’ His fingers don’t move. Chris’ expression is curiously blank. Tom pulls on his authority as the lawyer here doing business. 

‘For now, it is all smooth. And, with this, Chris and I can head home as soon as possible. Beg your pardon, Benedict – it’s been a delight and all, but you’re not the only business we’ll be dealing with at the moment. It’s best to be efficient about these things, don’t you think? As quick as your horses.’ 

Benedict smiles. ‘As quick as my horses. How clever.’ He looks one sentence away from clawing out Tom’s eyes, but Tom has the papers in front of his face, the Hemsworth clan’s custom pen waving expectantly. 

‘The last two pages, please.’ 

The ensuing minute is the sweetest silence Tom has ever heard. Chris and Benedict sign as indicated and neither protest when the waiters come to clear the table – clearing the half-drunk coffee and empty wine. 

‘Thank you for your business, Benedict,’ says Chris, smiling that peculiar smile, and Benedict’s eyes are only on him. 

‘Of course. Till half a year from now on, I suppose.’ He darts a glance at Tom. ‘Or perhaps sooner, as I would like.’ 

‘Maybe,’ dismisses Chris easily, and he laughs softly, a hand reaching out to clap Tom on the shoulder, nails dig in tight into the muscle of his shoulder blade where Benedict can’t see and it shoots arousal right down to the base of his spine. 

‘Have a good night, Benedict,’ smiles Tom, sliding the papers back into the respective folders of his briefcase and standing up. They shake hands and Benedict’s is particularly vicious with jealousy, though his face is quiet polite. Tom congratulates himself privately for keeping his expression just as civil. 

Once they exit out the restaurant, there is a rush of movement from the corner of his eye and suddenly Tom’s back is digging into the brick wall on the back of the restaurant. He stares over Chris’ shoulder at the parking lot blankly before he realizes that he’s being pinned by a very dangerous man to the wall. His brain shuts down and his eyes stare at the dark dark blue of Chris’ stare. 

‘Fuck,’ murmurs Chris and he presses their torsos together, his breath sliding over the skin of Tom’s cheek hotly, leaves his nerves tingling. This is more contact than Chris has ever allowed between them and Tom feels the rush of blood to both his head and groin at the sheer fact of it. 

‘Okay,’ blurts Tom without thinking, but Chris is already moving swiftly away from him, putting feet upon unwanted feet of space between them. His mind is awhirl and Chris’ face is back to that impassive expression of mild disinterest though there is a tension to his jaw that wasn’t there inside of the restaurant. 

‘You should be going home. Do you have a ride?’ Chris’ voice is rough but steady, and Tom is so, so glad there’s a wall at his back to support him. 

‘I’ll take a taxi, yeah, just, goodnight!’ He swallows, picks up the suitcase he had dropped, and starts a swift walk to the main road at the end of the parking lot. There is no way to ignore the prickling at his neck where he knows Chris tracks him like prey, like predator, like a thousand different things that Tom can’t wait till it explodes. 

-

Five months after his initial meeting with Chris, and Tom meets Chris’ match in the form of a tall waif of woman with pale, short hair and a scythe smile. She has a cigarette between her lips and a cool stare across the bar as they weave between the tables to approach her, accompanied by the lingering strains of Melody Gardot in the smoky air. 

‘Hello, Chris,’ she greets – cool and quiet, tapping the ash onto the tray on the shining table of the bar. Her gaze lands on Tom and her lips curl up just a little more. ‘What a sweet thing you’ve brought. Hello, darling.’ 

Tom smiles, nods. ‘Hello, I’m Tom, Chris’ lawyer.’ 

‘Pleasure.’ Her voice is a pleasant timbre that has the same steel that Chris’ tones embody and it makes something crawl down his spine. ‘Does Chris treat you right, love?’ 

He raises an eyebrow, ‘pardon?’ 

Chris interrupts, ‘now’s not the time, is it, Tilda?’ 

‘No, but perhaps after, I can show you what it is like to actually be used,’ replies Tilda calmly, and eyes Tom once more, ‘how about it?’ 

‘I’m afraid I’ve lost track of the conversation.’ Or, rather, Tom has the track too, too well to keep any part of himself under control. The fact that he’s being mistaken as Chris’ lover and his – he swallows - _sub_ is something that he has to push from his mind before it threatens to derail his thoughts altogether. He has a service to provide and that was to get Chris’ documents signed. 

‘That’s for the best,’ murmurs Chris, ordering a gin and tonic for himself, as he tries to engage Tilda, ‘I do hope you’re prepared on your end.’ 

‘If they come back from their work with even one strand of hair askew from their pretty heads,’ says Tilda with that same enigmatic smile, ‘I’ll ruin you from the inside out.’ 

Chris straightens, squares his shoulder, and matches her height with his own. He won’t be cowed but neither will he resort to intimidation. He’s a straight businessman and Tom can respect that over the brim of his glass of whiskey. The effect of both of them watching each other, cutting each other up in terms of enemy and ally, and positioning themselves around one another – it’s something like pure, indomitable power and the heat of it has Tom ordering another shot. 

‘Well, best to have this over with,’ snaps Tilda, breaking the silence, and Tom fumbles with the lock on his briefcase before he has the documents out to be signed upon his witness. Chris and Tilda handle the entire thing with unprecedented speed and efficiency that leaves no breath of hesitancy between the two. The deal had been made days upon days ago – this is just the final touch of legalization and neither are willing to back out on each other in a display of confidence of power. 

‘My girls are the best and I’ll have them treated to the best,’ says Tilda smoothly, and Chris nods his agreement. 

‘You have my vow on it and on paper, as Tom as seen to it. I appreciate your cooperation.’ 

Tom stows the paper away in the briefcase and closes it with a snap, only to be confronted by the gaze of Tilda once more. He swallows and she smiles. 

‘Though, do consider my offer, I am one of the best in the city, I have been told.’ She cocks her head. ‘You do know what I do, yes?’ 

Prostitution, says Tom’s brain vaguely. You buy girls and sell them off and make money from their bodies. You’re a well-known pimp and you’re very good at what you do and you train your ladies extremely well and Chris is buying some of your stock in exchange for a cut of the income because that’s what the underworld is – guns, drugs, and sex. 

Instead, he settles with: ‘Dominatrix.’ 

Chris’ hand is back on his shoulder. It’s tight and unforgiving. ‘If you would excuse us,’ he says and his voice isn’t that controlled timbre anymore. It’s tight and strained. It’s making Tom heat up in all the wrong places. 

‘Freshening up?’ murmurs Tilda, ‘I’ll watch your suitcase.’ Her expression is cat-like and pleased. It cuts into Tom, has his mouth dry because it is so, so similar to what he wants to see on Chris’ fine features. 

‘Thank you,’ he hears Chris say and he feels himself being navigated past the bar, crossing behind the stage where Gorecki starts up, and into the shadowed hallway where the toilets are indicated. Slamming into the men’s restroom with an unrestrained violence that has Tom halfway to begging already, Chris manhandles the man into a stall, kicks it closed, and locks it. 

Chris is breathing heavily – his pupils blown and the baby blue of his eyes just rings around the all-consuming black. Tom’s pants are quickly tightening and his muscles are already tight with want written down the curve of his back. 

‘Chris,’ he ventures, voice cracking in the middle, and Chris breathes in deep, closing his eyes, his mouth parting in breath. When he opens them again, he lands his gaze on Tom and everything Tom was going to say dies in his throat when Chris’ gaze is as clear and predatory as Tom has only dreamed of. 

‘Come here,’ he says, his voice already rough, and though there is only a foot of space between them, Tom crosses it without thought, his hands curling around the lapels of the suit jacket as he knock his nose gently against Chris’, sharing oxygen in such a tight space. Still, Chris makes no motion to touch him – only watches with those glittering, blown eyes. ‘I’m going to fuck you in this bathroom stall.’ 

Tom’s knees nearly buckle. 

But Chris is merciless – his voice is so low and careful and good, slicing him in half, ‘I’m gonna mark your neck, gonna fuck you well and good and when you go see her again, she’ll know that you fucking belong to me. You, Tom, are mine, you fucking understand?’ 

‘Oh god,’ groans Tom instead. 

And Chris’ mouth is on him – scorching and unforgiving. He swallows the long, drawn-out moan from Tom’s throat and chases it down with his tongue, tracing the edges of his teeth, the roof of his mouth, dragging on the bottom of Tom’s lip till it’s wet, red, and swollen. When they come up for air, Tom’s nails are claws in Chris’ chest as he dives back in, lets the man tug his upper lip and suck, slide the wet heat of his tongue alongside Tom’s own, and use it as a distraction to tug the suit jacket over his shoulders and loosen the tie at his neck. 

Pulling away and licking at his mouth, Chris breathes out a, ‘get fucking naked,’ and Tom is obeying without question. He tugs at his shirt and tie, has his suit jacket slung over the stall door and his pants around his ankles as he kicks off his shoes and toes off his socks. In turn, Chris calmly slides his arms from his jacket, hangs it on the hook and undoes his belt. The tent at his trousers has Tom’s mouth watering. 

There is too much arousal for Tom to feel the chill on his skin as he stands – exposed and vulnerable and all for the taking for Chris. 

‘Fuck,’ murmurs Chris like he had that night before – at the restaurant, Benedict’s hand on his arm, and Tom is moving forward again, claiming Chris’ mouth with a desperate whine. He wants Chris to own him, have him, fuck him till he’s a sobbing mess. 

With a growl, Chris pushes him back, turns and backs Tom against one of the walls of the stall. He scratches lightly over Tom’s skin, a nail catching his nipple and making him whine. His cock is hard now, leaking at the tip from the overstimulation of everything going on – of Chris’ attention, the cool metal at his back, the scorching heat from Chris’ touch. 

‘I want – oh fuck,’ says Tom in a breath, but Chris understands, Chris _knows_ as he always does. 

‘First, you’re gonna suck my cock and get me as wet as your leaking dick,’ he says, hand skimming over Tom’s hip and groping his ass, earning a low-pitched whine. ‘And then I’m gonna fuck you good, right in here – ’ and Chris’ fingers skim down his crack and rub teasingly at his hole, has him arching and pushing back because he wants more more more – ‘and I won’t fucking stop even if someone walks in here, got it?’ 

‘Yeah, yeah, oh – ’ and Tom’s thinking skills catch up and he falls voluntarily on his knees, unzipping Chris’ trousers without hesitation to nose at the cock pressed against the black briefs underneath. It smells like musk and fresh laundry and Tom’s pressing his tongue to the underside of Chris’ cock through the fabric, getting a choked off groan. 

‘That’s right, c’mon, Tom, take out my cock and kiss it,’ encourages Chris, something like amusement creeping through. Tom’s fingers curl at the hem and he tugs it down, seeing the flushed head of his cock, already wet with precome, and he lays an open-mouthed kiss to the tip, tasting the tang and swallowing the entire cockhead for more. 

‘Yeah, good, fuck, right under the tip,’ and Tom follows through, tracing the underside of the cockhead, tonguing it and drinking in the pearls of come that come forth. He pulls off and licks from root to tip, nuzzles at the heavy balls and takes one in his mouth. It has Chris breathing harshly, and Tom tugs at the cock in turn with his sucking, has a pattern established from the get-go because he wants this so bad, wants Chris to mark him with his come, wants hot heavy cock on his tongue until he’s choking on it. 

Tom moves back up to the tip and sucks down the other’s cock, has his lips stretched over the skin as he mouths at it, leaves his saliva dripping over the dick in his mouth, getting it wet just like Chris wants him to. When he feels those fingers slide into his hair and take a grip, Tom almost comes himself – he feels Chris begin to move his mouth where _he_ wants it. Chris doesn’t fuck his mouth as much as he uses Tom for his own pleasure, sets the pace how he wants it – slow at the tip and good and deep when Tom’s tongue is tracing the underside of the heavy veins. 

It has Tom’s cock making a pool of precome on the floor between his knees as his mouth becomes a tool for Chris’ pleasure, has him become nothing but a hot, wet thing to fuck languidly as spit leaks from the corners of Tom’s lips. ‘Get me so wet for your ass, Tom,’ hums Chris, ‘gonna fuck you until you can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, because you’re mine, Tom.’ 

Yes, Tom hums desperately, yes please fuck me yes. The grip from his hair slides down to his shoulder and all the memories of Chris’ hand there, claiming him in public, placing his ownership like he always has – and it’s enough for Tom to pull off gasping and standing in record speed. 

Chris has his hands on Tom’s hips and he pulls the man up – has Tom’s thighs hiked around his waist as his cock slides wetly between the man’s ass. ‘So good – you’re so fucking good,’ rumbles Chris, and one his hands are in Tom’s face, sliding two fingers into the man’s mouth, ‘suck them, get them wet, going to ram you into this fucking stall.’ 

Tom sucks desperately, lying on the last vestiges of spit onto the salt skin and feels his cock twitch at the line of saliva connecting between his bottom lip and Chris’ fingers when they retract. Almost immediately, they’re nudging at his hole, prying him open, getting him loose and wet for Chris’ cock, and Tom gasps and wiggles his hips down to get it in more and more. 

It’s when Tom is arched and moaning all over three fingers shoved two knuckles deep in his ass that they hear the bathroom door open and someone’s footsteps a staccato rhythm over the tiles. Chris pauses and Tom is frozen, but his cock twitches and they’ll be found out, they will – oh god – oh fuck – 

With a twist of his wrist, Chris curves his fingers and knocks against Tom’s prostrate. The wail he earns is long, loud, and has the stranger booking it from the bathroom, door knocking loudly closed behind them as Tom pants desperately. 

‘Chris.’ 

‘Sink down then,’ he murmurs and withdraws his hand, holds onto Tom’s waist and nudges the tip of his cock into Tom’s hole. It’s a slow, steady burn that traces languid hands up his spine, sets his stomach on fire and dries his mouth as his tongue lies heavy and his lips hanging open in a silent yell. Chris’ clothes at his front and the warming metal of the stall at his back have all his nerves firing, but the cock splitting him open from the inside has his breath punched out of him in a swift, brutal way. 

Chris growls and adjusts, squaring his shoulders as he readies himself to fuck Tom to pieces and it’s enough for Tom to start a half-moaned, ‘please, please, _please_.’ 

‘Be loud for me, won’t you?’ requests Chris politely, and Tom has half a mind to laugh until Chris pulls back and shoves inside of him, just as rough and hard as promised. He drives into Tom until Tom is scrabbling to grab hold of something, anything, and eventually digs his nails viciously into the meat of Chris’ shoulders as he moans loud and slutty, all reservations evaporating into the sweat-slick air. 

Chris’ cock ruins him from the inside – a fat, hot piece that fucks him with precision and rhythm, unfailingly pressing up somewhere deep inside where Tom thinks is impossible but it happens with each and every buck of hips. ‘I could give you this every day,’ says Chris against the skin of Tom’s neck, and Tom sobs, trying to imagine it, trying to feel what it would be like to get fucked open and ruined on his bed, against his couch, pressed against the table in his dining room. 

‘I could fill you up with my come and lick it back out of you,’ continues Chris as if he doesn’t note Tom’s desperate gasp, how the man’s ankles dig tightly into the small of Chris’ back, ‘I could paint you with my fucking come all over your chest, your back, your sweet sweet mouth.’ 

And it’s more than what Tom can take – he reaches a hand between them and tugs at his cock in tune with the precise fucking that Chris gives him. The sight is enough to have Chris bite at his neck, suck hard on the skin and tell him, in his ear in no imprecise terms, ‘want to feel your ass get all tight around my cock when you come.’ 

‘Anything,’ manages Tom, because it’s true, because he would let Chris do anything to him at this point, there’s no turning back – not to the backroom deals, the associates he meets, and he fact that he’s getting fucked to next week in a bathroom stall while Tilda waits for them at the bar with her smile as if she knows. 

His fingers play with his foreskin, pull it back and rub roughly over his leaking tip. It gets his ass to clench around the driving dick inside him, and he slides his hand further downward, tugging at his balls in time with Chris’ cock. The stimulation is enough, its too much really – and Tom has enough time to go, ‘Chris – I – _fuck_ – ’ 

He paints the front of his stomach and Chris’ dress shirt with his spunk, lets it run down his skin and tugs at his cock, milking it for all its worth under that blue eyed gaze of the other. That gaze that Tom could never quite place, never quite know or understand – that one is filled with want and possession and it’s all for Tom’s taking and he’s feels attended to in ways that he’s never felt before. 

His hole flutters and spasms and grips Chris’ cock tight and unyielding. He feels over sensitized at the drag of the thick piece inside of him but he lets Chris change the pace – become faster and harder, lose perfect control of himself in the last few moments. Each push-pull of his thrusts are a testament to how Tom affects him and he holds himself up as best as he can, gripping his ass tight as Chris gets closer and closer. 

‘Good, so so good,’ murmurs Chris against the skin of his cheek before his mouth is back on Tom’s neck and the bruise he leaves there is gonna last for days as he bucks up once, twice and grinds hard into Tom’s hole as he comes, fills him up all warm and good and Tom is never going to forget this moment – where he felt so sated and satisfied as Chris rode out his orgasm and his cock twitched, softened, and pulled out, leaving streaks of white come down the inside of Tom’s thighs. 

Without preamble, Chris takes some toilet paper and cleans himself up as well as Tom, who is busy slumped against the wall of the stall, trying to regain his breathing as his knees begin to hold him back up again. The wipe down is precise but warm and Chris quickly flushes the evidence down the toilet. 

‘Get dressed, Tilda is waiting,’ says Chris as he watches Tom’s hands tremble slightly as he pulls on his trousers, socks and shoes, slips on the button up shirt and knots his tie, finally pulling on the suit jacket. Tom’s come is dried over Chris’ shirt, but he covers it up by buttoning up his own suit jacket and looks, for all intents and purposes, well-fucked and pleasant. 

Without thinking, Tom reaches forward and kisses him and Chris groans before pulling away. ‘Stop or I’ll have to screw you into next week again,’ he warns. 

‘Fine, okay, I don’t – ’ Tom rambles, unable to decipher what he wants to say – that he’s up for Chris fucking him the next stall over or that he’s right and they should probably pick up the documents from Tilda and leave. 

Chris turns and slides a hand down Tom’s back, propelling him forward. ‘Come.’ 

When they get back to Tilda’s side – she seems unmoved, though there is an empty glass next to her elbow as she reclines on the bar – her face is in a grin and her eyes knowing. ‘That’s quite a lovely mark you have, Tom.’ 

Tom flushes red when he realizes that the ache from his body doesn’t just stem from his ass but also on Chris’ mouth on his neck where no suit collar could hide. He’d have to wear turtlenecks to the office for a week, but it’s past his time to even care. 

‘We’ll be leaving now,’ says Chris, picking up the suitcase, and Tilda only nods. 

‘Till another day, then,’ she says in lieu of a goodbye. 

Once they get to the bar’s parking lot where Chris is parked, Tom has no idea what to do except watch as Chris fishes the keys from out of his suit jacket pocket. 

‘That was good. Really good.’ Tom pauses then imagines the world swallowing him whole. This was not how one was supposed to go about asking for a second round. Or relationship. 

‘I know, and I’d like to do it often and more frequently,’ says Chris as he walks around the car and opens Tom’s door. He looks at Tom with those blue eyes and the stare pins Tom in place as it always does. ‘I wasn’t joking when I said I considered you mine.’ 

’Yes,’ replies Tom quickly, loudly, ‘please.’ 

And when Chris smiles, it spreads from his mouth to his cheeks to the crinkle of his eyes, and Tom thinks he’s never made a better decision than this one. 

-

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a lot harder for me to write, but I'm glad I got it finished. Thanks to a number of people who I've yelled at for helping me through this. Hope you enjoyed reading!
> 
> x-posted to [tumblr](http://alighterwithlove.tumblr.com/post/51860345594/room-service-nc-17-rpf).


End file.
